


Treading Water

by agent85



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Discussion of Blood/Injury, F/M, Mostly Just Pain, Post 2x14, angst and pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-19 19:58:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3622344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent85/pseuds/agent85
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“She finds herself crumbling down to the floor, twisting to lean against the cabinet, clutching at her knees. He told her she was afraid, and this is the first time she puts a name to the energy that has been prodding her forward.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Treading Water

She looks in the mirror and sees herself for the first time.

Not to say that she doesn't use her mirror on a regular basis. But this time, she's not trying to apply mascara or brush her teeth. Now, she's looking at this woman that Fitz apparently doesn't recognize.

Does she recognize herself?

She feels an intangible  _something_  seeping in around her, raising up to the level of her shoulders, and she's treading water once again. But she doesn't look at it. She doesn't analyze it. She just keeps swimming, because if she drowns, they'll drown with her. So she has to stay afloat. She has to.

She finds herself crumbling down to the floor, twisting to lean against the cabinet, clutching at her knees. He told her she was afraid, and this is the first time she puts a name to the energy that has been prodding her forward. But she can see it now, see the light that blinded her as she emerged from the deep, feel the hair stuck to her face and the sodden fabric clutched tightly in her hands. Really, she wasn't there long. Really, Fury's hand was reaching out to her within moments. 

But really, she's been there for months, and she's still there. It's just that this time, she's clutching onto more than Fitz, who grows heavier somehow, bobbing up and down with closed eyes. Now, Skye is here with her, looking back with a glassy expression. Trip, who slipped away before she realized he was there, is on a slow and unstoppable descent.

Trip, who once handed her a knife in a den of wolves, is now tearing at her heart. And, still, she has to stay afloat, because the waves are sloshing into Fitz's open mouth and over Skye's ears. Her strength is fading, and she knows her fingers will give out soon. But the knife that's slicing her from navel to sternum, the one that Fitz called Fear, is telling her she's already lost them both. But she doesn't let go. One more moment, one more minute, and a solution will swoop in from above. She just has to hold on, hold on, and pray that it comes in time.

She opens her eyes and takes a long, gasping breath, finding herself once again sitting on her tiled bathroom floor, underneath her neatly-arranged toiletries and towels. She doesn't see, but rather senses how everything she owns is in order, and as she's mentally cataloging things and spaces, it suddenly seems so artificial. It seems pointless, because this is one small corner of the universe, and she once thought she could go out and make sense of the world. But this is the only place where goop sits in a tube or a bottle, ready for her to measure and use. There are untold horrors out there, and she's just starting to realize that she can't understand them all. She can't contain or control them.

So is her desire to eliminate them really so bad? After all, she's just cleaning up the mess that SHIELD made, that  _she_  made, by cracking open the lid on Pandora's box in a vain attempt to organize the universe. She's just trying to find the button that will reset this world to the way it was before she made her mark on it. She's just trying to fix it. To fix her. To fix him.

Sometimes she wishes that people weren't made of blood and guts and choices. She wishes they were made of cogs and gears, because then she could open herself up, and watch his deft fingers solve every problem. She could open him up and follow his instructions to replace and repair.  But there aren't parts, and from the way he looked at her today, she knows he wouldn't help her anyway.

It doesn't matter, though, because "fix" is not a word for people. "Fix" is for formulas and equations. For things that are simple and finite. She takes in a shaky breath as she allows herself to think that, maybe, this problem might be smarter than she is. She wonders if it's smarter than  _they_  are.

But he's not here. This time, he can't see her cry. He can't tell her that it'll be okay, and she's terrified that it won't be. These new parts of her, the desperation and the longing which she only recently put in a column called Love, are now an added weight on her chest, dragging her away from him. 

She wonders if the bond she shares with Fitz is strong enough to pull him back to her. But then she's watching him through transparent doors, she's banging on the glass and screaming his name, but he only smiles at her as he takes Skye's hand, and they both get swept away.

(There's a part of her that says that she should let the traitors go, but she knows that she never will.)

So she keeps sobbing, letting the demons out through her mouth and hoping that they will take this helplessness with them. She hopes the tears will wash away the darkness in her heart, that it will clean the wound so she can bandage herself up and get back to work. 

She lets herself sink down until she is lying on her side, and the tears go across her face to drip into the small grooves between the cool tiles. She sobs until she has no tears left, until her cries have shifted into silence. She lies there for a while, letting the void engulf her. After a few moments, she finds the strength to stand up again.

She takes a breath before she looks back in the mirror. The woman she sees is tired and weak. So many battles have been fought and lost, and here she is, just as changed as Fitz said she was. People have always called her small, but now she can see it. She can see how fear has hacked her to pieces. And if she can't fix Skye, or Fitz, how can she ever fix herself? 

She stares and she stares until she hears a knock, until the door creaks open, until the footsteps stop just behind her, and she can see them both.

"Coulson needs you," says May, pausing for a bit as she searches Jemma's reflection. "Take a minute, if you need to."

Simmons smiles and nods, and when she's finally alone again, she pulls open a drawer and finds that her mascara is exactly where it's supposed to be.

Time to keep swimming.


End file.
